


This Town

by disgruntledkittenface



Series: flicker sessions [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Canon Compliant, M/M, No Smut, OT4 Friendship, Post-Break Up, This Town by Niall Horan, but niall wrote a sad song!, except for one kiss, mentions of pr relationships, sorry it is so sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 02:13:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10732035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntledkittenface/pseuds/disgruntledkittenface
Summary: It’s not until he’s inside the venue and sees Zayn from a distance for the first time in person since trying to fall asleep curled around him their last night together that the nerves hit and his bravado starts to feel false.When Zayn left the band, he left Niall too.





	This Town

**Author's Note:**

> This fic wouldn’t exist without my beta [openhearts](http://archiveofourown.org/users/openhearts/pseuds/openhearts) – all of the hearts and thank yous for encouraging me and helping me find my voice.   
>    
>  I also have a lot of other supportive someones who discussed character motivations with me, helped me sound intelligent talking about the song, gave suggestions for getting a Harry ramble just right, proofread many (many) drafts, shouted encouragement in all caps, and held my hand. Thank you. All remaining mistakes are my own.   
> 

**_Waking up to kiss you and nobody’s there_ **  
**_The smell of your perfume still stuck in the air_ **  
**_It’s hard_ **

The boys always joked about Niall cutting himself on those cheekbones.

Zayn had the look of all sharp angles, but he relaxed into soft curves in Niall’s arms. Most mornings Niall woke first, nose pressed against the back of Zayn’s neck. He’d take a moment to breathe in the distinctive mix of cigarette smoke and light florals in Zayn’s favorite cologne that had come to mean home before gently squeezing Zayn’s hip and sliding out from under the covers, tea to be brewed and shower to be had. Day to be started.

This morning seemed like it would be one of the more rare ones.

When Zayn was up first, Niall usually opened his eyes to see Zayn propped up on pillows next to him, earbuds in so as not to disturb, either sketching or on his laptop, halfway through a cup of the darkest roast coffee he could get his hands on. He always greeted Niall with a soft “morning, babes,” and a hand through his hair.

This morning, Niall stirs for a bit in that hazy place between asleep and awake before realizing that it’s a pillow he’s cuddling and not his boy. He registers the vague disappointment and fights to doze off again, before finally admitting he’s closer to awake than asleep. Hugging the pillow close for a moment, Niall automatically turns to Zayn’s side of the bed on his right, ready to be greeted by his usual sight… but Zayn’s lanky figure is nowhere to be seen.

Niall shoots straight up, head and heart pounding in equal measure, starting to take in every sign that Zayn had actually done it.

Only one suitcase at the foot of the bed. Only one phone charging on the bedside table. No clothes strewn about. No expensive hair products on the bathroom counter. There’s nothing but the already fading scent of home to signify that Zayn had even been there.

It wasn’t until this very moment that he believed Zayn would go through with it.

That first week, Niall didn’t feel much of anything except blinding exhaustion. If he’d learned anything being in this band, it was to sleep whenever you got the opportunity, but for the first time in years, he couldn’t manage it except in fits and starts. He’d barely be able to keep his eyes open and go lie down, but then just stare at the ceiling, suddenly wide awake. He thought he’d known what it was to be exhausted before.

There weren’t many in their tour family aside from the boys who knew what Zayn was to Niall. The few who did crept around him like he was about to fall apart at any moment (you cry on stage one time, just _one_ , and no one lets you forget it), which actually did make him feel something at least: mildly guilty. He didn’t deserve their hushed sympathy when he was just so tired and… numb. Blank.

When the time comes, much of the team gathers in a hotel conference room to wait for one of the suits from the London office to press send on the carefully worded statement. Niall stands off to the side, watching as everyone mills around, ignoring the coffee and fruit platters that have been laid out for them. No one is talking much. As he looks around the room, Niall wonders if he’s really the only one who never actually expected they would get to this point.

The final step only takes a moment and, from the looks on their faces, everyone else feels as startled as he does at how quickly it’s over.

That’s it, then.

Officially no longer a fivesome, he and the boys attempt to deflect the hugs and tears as they make their way toward the door. Once outside, they head to Liam’s suite in silent agreement that they need to be alone together, the four of them being the only ones who are ever going to know exactly what this is like.

Liam fumbles with the room card a few times before Louis gently takes it from him, patting his shoulder. Once Louis lets them inside, Niall collapses on the nearest couch, all to himself for once instead of in the middle of a band puppy pile. Liam and Louis settle close together on the opposite couch, and it looks like Harry falls asleep the moment he hits Liam’s bed, the bastard. Always one to flaunt.

Niall tries to tune out the murmurs as Louis and Liam scroll on their phones, taking the temperature of the fans’ immediate reactions, and it works for awhile. He’s just starting to think he might be able to drift off when it happens.

Liam nudges Louis, pointing at his screen, and says, “It’s mad how many of them are saying ‘don’t forget where you belong,’ I feel like a right idiot for not expecting that–”

Niall’s stomach drops and he leaps up, rushing to the bathroom. As he retches into the toilet, all he can see is Zayn’s halfhearted attempt at their three pokes move during their last – fuck, their actual _last_ – WMYB formation playing on a loop in his mind.

It hits him all at once, ridiculously: Zayn left.

_**Yesterday I thought I saw your shadow running round  
It’s funny how things never change in this old town ** _

If Niall thought the first few days were endless, he was in for a rude awakening. The next two months feel more like two years.

He’d never thought about how many fecking steps were involved in leaving the house before.

First the alarm goes off as he’s lying awake on his back. He hits the snooze button a couple of times, even though he knows he won’t be dozing. Then he shoves off the covers, and musters the energy to swing his legs to the side and turn to get up.

He makes his way to the en suite, which has its own set of steps: lights on, shower on, grab the toothbrush and toothpaste to take in, pants in the hamper. Go through the motions of washing up when just standing and letting the water sluice over him sounds much more appealing. Give himself just ten more seconds at least a dozen times before forcing himself to turn the handle to off. Pick the towel up off the hook, dry off, hang the towel back up.

Down the hall to the closet, already tired from making the decision of what to wear. He stands in the middle of all his options, lost in thought staring at the section of light jackets. Snaps out of it and grabs the closest one. Picks out a striped tee and a hat, _the_ hat, hoping to draw the attention of the guys away from awkward questions by giving them something to tease about.

Finally dressed, he heads downstairs to brew tea. He should probably eat something. Scans the fridge, a place for everything and everything in its place, but finds nothing. Shrugs, step incomplete.

A quick photo for Instagram (everything’s just fine, everyone, see) before he checks his pockets. Phone, wallet, keys, check. He heads down the hallway, sees the guitar case and bag with his laptop and journal that he’d left unpacked by the door the night before.

Is that… yep, that’s everything. Exhausted, Niall heads to the garage wondering how he ever used to do this everyday without thinking about it.

And it's like this every time, not just for writing sessions where his only real contribution is showing up. It’s outings for prearranged pap shots, it’s birthday drinks with friends, it’s even golfing. It’s truly a sad state of affairs when Niall Horan can’t muster enthusiasm to get to the course.  

Yes, it is exhausting trying to keep a routine, but the days he spends at home by himself aren't much better. Niall used to welcome time to himself, the opportunity to process things in peace. Put on some music, do a workout or some tidying up at home. Let ideas flow, solutions become clear. At the moment, though, his thoughts aren’t anything he really wants to be alone with. It’s not like there are any playlists that don’t conjure some memory or another of Zayn anyway.

Distraction it is. He’s limited to the bed or couch, he doesn’t pretend to himself otherwise when he’s alone. There’s no energy for focusing too closely on any one thing, so no books or shows he really wants to catch up on. He winds up cycling through _Friends_ endlessly, it’s neutral enough and helps the time inch by.

It’s not like he and Zayn were ever joined at the hip during their rare time off, they’d always given each other room to be independent, but being alone now is the loneliest Niall can ever recall feeling. All of his usual sunny optimism has abandoned him. He was seeing everything through a dark filter, incidentally the kind he’d never choose on Instagram.

*

Niall couldn’t tell if he was dreading tour starting back up or excited for it. When he walked into the rehearsal space on the first day back, he realized it was both.

He loves these people, he loves what they do. And he’s always wanted to stay and keep being a part of this adventure, so it’s a relief to see all the different parts of their team together again, carrying on as if there were no reason not to. And yet, as he walks around to take everything in, something pricks under his skin.

It was one thing to know that life just kept carrying on without waiting for Niall to be ready to catch up. But it was another to see up close. And wasn’t it a bit rude that everything was just… the same? Like nothing had really changed, which wasn’t the case. Not for Niall, anyhow.

Their days are exactly the same, the routine honed and perfected over the years, to the point that Niall keeps looking up to meet Zayn’s eyes and reaching for him only to find nothing there. That’s when it’s overwhelming, those moments of the fresh realization hitting him all over again. Everything is the same except this ghost pain of his missing boy.

The four of them are ready and waiting to go on before a show… Oslo this time, Niall thinks. Louis won’t or can’t stop trying to mess with Liam’s hair and no one has made a move to help Liam, who’s pretending not to bask in the attention. Harry’s distracted, humming something he’s been working on with Julian. All the parts around them are moving like clockwork. And it’s just. It’s laughable is what it is. How is it all the same?

He nudges Harry, distracting him from his humming to say, “Nothing ever changes here, mate. Look around, all of this. Same thing every single day.”

Harry looks confused, but like he’s trying not to let it show on his face, as he replies, “What are you talking about, Ni? It’s all changing, everything’s about to change.”

Niall can’t help scoffing at that. “Nah, mate,” he insists, “it’s all the same thing, over and over, feels like we’ve just been repeating the same day for four years.”

Seeing how closely Harry is suddenly watching him, he starts to regret saying anything at all, relieved to hear the first notes of Clouds starting up, their signal to run on stage.   

It’s all the same. The only difference is him.

 _**And I want to tell you everything** _  
_**The words I never got to say the first time around** _

It starts with something small.

They’re on the way to the venue, and Niall knows they’re in the northwest of the States, but he’s given up trying to track cities this time. The traffic slows for a bit, maybe an accident up ahead? And Niall doesn’t want to be stuck in the car but he doesn’t really want to get to the venue either, so fine. He looks around out the car windows, wondering if anything will look familiar. He may not know which city he’s in, but chances are he’s been here before.

That’s when he notices a bit of graffiti out of the corner of his eye. It’s the kind of design that Zayn always stopped to admire for a just a bit before catching up, abstract and colorful. And it’s stupid, it’s just some spray paint on a wall, but suddenly he needs for Zayn to see it. He snaps a quick photo as traffic starts to move again, and looks down at the image on his phone for a minute.

Making up his mind, he pulls up a new message thread on his phone with the number that Caroline slipped to him when she said goodbye and attaches the picture, writing, “sick innit,” and sending quickly, not giving himself a chance to second guess.

The burst of adrenaline from the risk he just took carries him the rest of the car ride, all through prep for and the show itself (Seattle, it turns out). It’s the first move either of them has made and, for being such a small thing, it feels huge. Even as he checks his phone later, already knowing the notification he’s waiting for won’t be there, he feels more awake than he has in weeks.   

It goes on from there.

He becomes a graffiti connoisseur, the collection of photos on his phone growing. He finds himself checking the Iron Man fan art tag on tumblr. He keeps an ear out for things Zayn would crack a smile or roll his eyes at, although he can’t bring himself to share Harry’s dad jokes or Liam’s malapropisms or Louis’ sarcasm; it feels weirdly wrong in a way it never would have before. He’s most proud of getting Lux calling her mum Poo Teasdale on video. That’s the one he lets himself think he might get a reply to.

He tries to limit himself, but it’s hard when he finally has an active interest in something again. It’s not exactly a healthy hobby, Niall knows, but it’s something. Even the little flash of embarrassment every time he presses send can’t convince him to stop completely.

And that getting embarrassed? He’d never experienced that before with Zayn. He’d always put his heart on the line gladly. Not just with Zayn – Niall’s always the one telling someone he loves them, supporting his friends, posting on Instagram for birthdays. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but then he doesn’t know what Zayn’s doing either.

It comes to a head the night a large group of them gather in Harry’s hotel suite to celebrate dropping Drag Me Down overnight. They’d known the song was a banger and it was a smart move, but the overwhelming response is still a relief to everyone. After a toast to the songs for the album being either done or close to done, Niall and Harry settle on a couch on the side of the living room.

“How are the trumpets coming along on Olivia?” Niall asks, knowing he’ll be setting Harry off and he won’t have to keep up his side of the conversation.

“Very funny,” Harry replies drily. “I know you all think this is so funny, but the song really isn’t actually finished, Nialler.”

Niall sits back as Harry takes the bait, unable to resist even knowing exactly what Niall’s doing.

He listens with one ear, taking in the chatter around them, noting how Harry’s speech gets faster the more passionate he is about his subject.

“... and it’s important to get it right, I mean, it’s always kind of important to get it just right, you know, Ni, but what I kind of mean is, um, that it’s sort of like the most personal one? S’like the most me, I guess, but it's kind of the most of one part of me, right, but, um, that’s an important part of me, so when, not if, okay, but when we add the trumpets…”

It’s all making sense but also not in a way that Niall is very used to when he hears Harry ask, “What about you?”

“What about me?” Niall replies, honestly confused as to where he lost track.

“Which... song... is… closest… to... what... your... album… will... sound... like?” Harry drawls obnoxiously, like this is the first time someone has ever missed something he’s said during a ramble.

They’ve all talked about what they want to do during the hiatus for years, at first in dreamy hypotheticals and lately more in terms of reality and logistics. Even though they’ve never been the typical boy band with the choreography or overdone effects, Niall’s known for a long time he wants to streamline, get as close to just him and his guitar on stage as he can. He hasn’t given the specifics much thought lately, though, too busy hunting down scraps of graffiti to photograph.

He stutters, completely unsure of what to say. He doesn’t remember the last time he even tried to sit down to write anything just for himself. Harry takes pity on him, covering Niall’s hand with his own larger one to settle him. Then he pulls a neatly wrapped gift from behind him, seemingly out of nowhere, and hands it over.

“What’s this then?” Niall asks, feeling even more lost.

“Just something for whatever’s next. You can open it later,” Harry replies, giving his beer can one last clink against Niall’s before standing to stretch and head over to Julian, no doubt to give him more abuse about the damn trumpets.

Niall should get up too, he’s expected to have a laugh. He risks the head tilts and the “you okay?”s for a minute of peace though. Literally a minute, it turns out, until he spies Liam approaching, concerned pout firmly in place. Before Niall can do anything, Liam has him cornered. He softens Niall with an “All right, mate?” before the sucker punch.   

“I just wanted to tell you that I’ve spoken with Zayn,” he says quietly, leaning in.

Niall barely manages not to flinch, keeping it together even while the blood rushes into his ears, dulling his hearing. He gives a fake laugh, replying, “Yeah, Li, I know, I saw the tweets, all good,” praying for that to be the end of it.

But of course it isn’t.

“No, mate,” Liam insists, shaking his head, “I mean to say... look, I texted him a few times and I know I should have said, but he was my brother, too, you know? Hopefully still is… but yeah, we had a bit of chat earlier today and I–”

Niall can’t believe his ears. How is this actually happening? Is this actually happening?

“Do you mean to say,” Niall breaks in, needing to know exactly what Liam is saying since he’s insisting on saying it, “you’ve texted him and he replied? You called and he actually spoke to you?”

Somehow Liam looks surprised at Niall’s urgency and he starts apologizing, tripping over his words in an earnest attempt to explain what Niall already knows but can’t help resenting at the moment. This is Liam after all – the guy’s never had a bad intention in his life, always the peacemaker, and he actually means it when he says all that about brothers.

He tries to listen closely, not sure what exactly he’s feeling, but he’s feeling it so much that his hands are shaking.

It’s when Liam gets to “maybe you should just try” that Niall starts to lose it. He’s all set to bite back when he looks into Liam’s dark brown eyes, with honest-to-god tears starting to glisten, and the fight goes out of him.

He slumps against the couch and whispers, “You don’t think I’ve tried? I’ve been trying. He won’t talk to me.”

Liam gapes a little, clearly at a loss for words, and any other time it would be hilarious but right now it just breaks another little bit of Niall’s heart. So that detail got lost in their little chat, then.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, the party carrying on around them uninterrupted, and Niall sits forward a little, readying to leave. Liam puts up a hand to stop him, faltering as Niall shakes his head.

“It’s not the same as with you, Li,” Niall says lowly. “When he left the band, he left me too. It’s not the same.”  

Liam nods, still with his worried mother hen face on, and Niall can’t leave him like that but he does have to leave. He pats Liam’s shoulder as he stands.

“It’s going to be okay with us, mate,” Niall says with as much kindness as he can manage while his head is still spinning. “You and me are going to be fine, I just need a bit of time.”

Liam doesn’t look completely reassured, but it’s all Niall can do at the moment. He knows they’ll have more time to mend it. And he knows they actually will.

When he gets back to his room, completely drained, he remembers the gift from Harry that he’s been blindly clutching. He sets it on the coffee table before heading to the shower. A couple of hours on the balcony and a few beers later, hoping he’s unwound enough to get some sleep, he passes through the living room and the gift lying unopened catches his eye. Niall’s still feeling a little raw and unsettled, but his curiosity wins out. He unwraps the gift carefully, preserving the paper even though he knows he won’t save it.

Inside the box is a leather-bound journal. It’s exactly where his aesthetic and Harry’s overlap, and he instantly loves it. He flips the cover to get the first day of school whiff of nostalgia and sees there’s an inscription:

“To change”  

 **_And I remember everything_ **  
**_From when we were the children playing in this fairground_ **  
**_Wish I was there with you now_ **

It had taken a long time for Niall to realize the way he felt about Zayn was different than how he felt about the other boys.

One night on tour, Zayn came to his hotel room all worked up, ranting about some new bit of promo so fast that Niall couldn’t follow him.

“–this is exactly the kind of thing I told them I didn’t want to do, Niall,” Zayn spit out furiously, pacing, “but it’s in the contract, I’m so sick of finding out these new things that have always been in the bloody contract, they don’t actually give a shit about us or what we want or, I don’t know, making any decisions for this band that aren’t so fucking lazy or outdated, it just makes me want to scream, I swear to–”

Niall can see Zayn isn’t going to stop for a breath, so he gets up, puts both hands to Zayn’s chest, breaking in, “Zayn. Zaynie. Z. Slow down, what happened?”

Zayn looks up into Niall’s face, looking almost surprised to see him. He pulls a cigarette and lighter from his shirt pocket and waves for Niall to follow him. They settle in the two chairs on the balcony and Niall just waits. Zayn is halfway through his smoke when he starts talking quietly.

“You know Perrie, the girl from that band? Little Mix?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Niall replies, starting to see where this is going. “They’re ace. Perrie’s the blond, yeah?”

“Yeah, Ni, exactly,” Zayn confirms, sighing. “The blond one. Blue eyes. Pale skin. They want us to date. Say it’ll be a huge boost all around.”

Niall thinks for a minute about the best way to respond, steadfastly ignoring the growing pit in his stomach.  

“Well, that… that might not be that bad, yeah? Perrie’s cool, seems like she’d been more game for a laugh than Eleanor. Nothing like Caroline. It might even be a good time.”

Zayn levels a Look at him.

“Yeah, I know she’s cool,” he replies disdainfully, “but you know this isn’t going to be a ‘good time,’ Niall. How am I supposed to go home and look my family in the eye when–”

“You know they’ll understand. As much as they can. They just want what’s best for you.”

“How is this what’s best for me? Explain it to me. I’ll wait.”

“You know what I mean, mate.”

“It’s not what I want,” Zayn insists. “It’s not who I want. I don’t understand why things have to be like this, they want us photographed on a date on scooters, Niall. Scooters.”  

“We have bigger problems if you’re too good for scooters, mate,” Niall laughs, before something occurs to him. “Wait. It’s not who you want? Who… is there someone you want?”

Zayn’s cheeks redden as he looks down.

“Maybe,” he hesitates, “I don’t… kind of, I guess?”

As Niall’s heart starts thudding, he realizes maybe he knows what the pit in his stomach means.

“Is it… are you–” he doesn’t know how to ask, but he needs to know what they’re really talking about.

Zayn pauses for a minute, leaning forward to stub out his cigarette.

“Listen, yeah, Perrie is cool.” Zayn says, running his hands through his hair distractedly. “Getting a milkshake or whatever, fine. It’s not the worst time. But she doesn’t… I don’t think she’ll understand me. I don’t think she’ll take care of me. I don’t think she’ll look at me the way… the way that you do sometimes. Like. Like you can’t believe I’m sitting telling you all the details they got wrong with my graphic novel. Like that’s... a privilege or something. Like–”

Niall wants to hear the rest of what Zayn was going to say, he really does, but it’s more important to cup Zayn’s face with his hands and kiss him.

If Zayn is surprised, he doesn’t show it, automatically moving his lips to meet Niall’s. He lifts his hands to hold Niall’s wrists in place, as if it would occur to Niall to move.  

Niall has kissed plenty of girls, and a few boys thrown in for good measure, it’s no matter to him, but it’s never felt like this. He knows what it’s like to hug Zayn, have arms around waists and shoulders, have a hand on the other as they make their way through a crowd, but this. Niall never knew kissing Zayn would feel like this.

It’s as natural as any other time they’ve touched. The kiss sets Niall at ease; it’s a comfort. And yet it’s a completely new thrill, different than anything he’s felt before. As Niall’s heart races, he chases the feeling, somehow both unfamiliar and familiar, knowing he’s safe with Zayn.

They both part their lips at the same time, Niall tilting his head just enough to deepen the kiss. It’s an awkward angle, leaning over from his chair, but he barely notices as he feels Zayn’s nose nudge up against his, the slight stubble of Zayn’s jaw scratching just the tiniest bit against his hands, the tentative wet glide of Zayn’s tongue against his.

They break off after a few minutes, hovering in each other’s spaces, catching their breath. Watching each other. The moment hanging between them.

“Well,” Niall says, sporting a grin as he leans back, “they got the blond hair, blue eyes, pale skin part right, didn’t they?”

It looks for a second like Zayn might get mad but then his lips twitch and he retorts, “Bottle blond, anyway.”

If it was possible, they spent even more time together than before. There was more talking, they’d stay up all night, never running out of things to say to each other, and then nap on the bus during the day. There was more kissing too, and Niall couldn’t understand how it always felt brand new like that first night, but he loved it.

Zayn asked if they could keep this, whatever this was, private while they figured out what it meant. It made sense to Niall as soon as Zayn brought it up: Nothing was really just for them anymore. If they tweeted something, if they talked about something in an interview – it could immediately get all twisted around. It wasn’t just theirs anymore. And this thing between them was too new, too important to risk. Niall readily agreed.

They let a few people in on their budding relationship, one or two at a time. Niall phoned Bobby almost straightaway, and Zayn confided in Louis a bit after that. The circle grew to include Harry and Liam, Zayn’s parents, their tour dad Paul, Lou and Caroline, a few friends from home.

They’d grown good at compartmentalizing, being in this band. They’d learned early on you had to find a way of using pieces of yourself at a time or else you’d end up losing all of them. You could start thinking you were what everyone said you were, lose track of what was real, what was important, amidst all the image. You had to compartmentalize or run the risk of becoming a right monster; the industry do’s they had to attend were rife with those sort.

Niall’s a little hesitant the first time that Zayn goes for the three pokes – first Niall’s left nipple, then right, then down to the belly – after they become something more. It’s just a silly thing they must have done on stage a hundred times before, but aren’t they supposed to act differently now? This is all new to Niall, but he wants to show Zayn that he takes his wish for privacy seriously. He freezes for a moment, unsure how to react.

He looks toward Zayn, who beams back at him, and he realizes that Zayn’s face is angled so that the look is just for him. Private, in the midst of a sea of thousands of people and flashing lights.

As they settle on the couch at the back of the bus after finishing the show, Zayn turns to him before Niall has a chance to ask, saying, “See, babes? We’re still us. They still get to see how we are with each other, they just don’t get the bit that’s just for us.”  

And as Zayn leans in for a chaste kiss, it clicks for Niall how private doesn’t have to mean hiding.

If he gets lost in Zayn’s eyes listening to him finally speak up in an interview, that’s okay because he’s always done that. He can still compliment Zayn’s eyelashes and Zayn can still call him cute. Hugs and affection are fair game. Niall wants everyone to know he loves Zayn, just not that he’d maybe always been a little bit in love with him, and it only grows deeper over time, away from the spotlight.

Privacy had been Zayn’s request but Niall found that he valued it too.

One night, after a year or so of being properly together, they’re at Zayn’s parents’ house for dinner. Niall helps Trisha clear the plates and stays to chat as she loads the dishwasher. They talk a bit about the tour and how Zayn seems a little more tired than usual.

“You know, Niall,” Trisha remarks, “you’re so good for him, I’m so glad he has you looking out for him.”

And this strikes a little bit of a nerve with Niall, he’s heard it in some form or another from everyone who knows them as a couple. He takes a breath but can’t stop himself.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” he asks, a little more sharply than he intended.

“Oh, love, you know what I mean. You get him out of his own head, you take care of him–”

“No, see,” Niall interjects. “That’s what people don’t understand. He takes care of me, I’m the lucky one. He makes every day better, he makes me better, just by being there. He’s the one everyone should be glad that I have.”

He looks up to see Trisha smiling softly at him, nodding. Niall’s not sure if he made his point enough but he lets it go for now.  

Niall could never pinpoint exactly when it started to change.

Zayn had been happier at first; he threw himself into things more readily, so much life in his eyes as they performed. Niall’s heart seemed to beat out of his chest for this shy boy who never saw the best in himself the way that Niall did.

Even from the start, they all got worn down and had tough days, but Zayn seemed more affected by the stress and the attention. His anxiety grew steadily worse and management never let him miss anything because of it. Every show, every interview, every appearance, he had to be there. That started to take its toll, Zayn needing more and more introvert days to recharge whenever he got the chance.

Before Niall knew it was happening, those days started not to include him.

Niall had always known it bothered Zayn that their music didn’t reflect him, but he didn’t know when it became such a sticking point. Sure it wasn’t the exact music any one of them would put out solo, but they got better with each album and it was clear with only one look into the crowd at one of their concerts how happy they were making people.

Harry and Liam were the real showmen, their charisma and voices taking up practically the whole stage at times. Louis, their natural leader, found his voice in writing, his place in the band growing and solidifying over time. Niall turned to the guitar, mastering his skill and fulfilling his need to create and contribute.

While Zayn… struggled, Niall supposed. He encouraged Zayn’s writing as much as he could, always up to play a bit and throw around ideas, but he couldn’t help which songs got picked for the albums. And it just hurt to listen to Zayn complain so much about his solos in music he didn’t want to be known for.

He sensed that Zayn was growing resentful, but he never imagined it extended to him. As tiresome as it started to feel, Niall never stopped encouraging Zayn’s writing and his learning more about producing, always praising his talent. Never stopped telling him how much he loved him.

But he couldn’t figure out when Zayn started listening to things others whispered in his ear. Things about how he wasn’t really appreciated. How he could be happier making music for himself. How he could be successful on his own. Niall had thought he was enough. They were enough.

It had been a long time coming, Niall realized in hindsight, but all of a sudden he was gone.

 _**If the whole world was watching, I’d still dance with you** _  
_**Drive highways and byways to be there with you** _  
_**Over and over the only truth** _  
_**Everything comes back to you** _

The only excitement that Niall can muster as he walks on set for the first big day of album promo is to sit on the couch, an actual cozy-looking one for once.

“All right, Ni?” Harry asks as he arrives a moment later, settling next to him. “Ready for a day of deep and probing questions about our creative process?”

Niall rolls his eyes as Harry waggles his brows at him, both of them knowing better by now than to expect anything but the same recycled, superficial questions about the hiatus and Zayn leaving.

They plaster on smiles as the first interviewer is brought in and their minder introduces them, handshakes all around. Time to be _on_.

After the first few rounds, they get a bit of a break and elect to lounge on the couch with some food. Niall tries to put some room between them, as he’d prefer to finish all of his own lunch, but Harry’s never been one for personal space.

Niall checks his phone, mainly for Google alerts or Instagram post notifications. He’s not sure what the boys make of it when they notice him keeping tabs on Zayn, but he doesn’t really care. He’s going a little bit out his mind, actually, with this zero-contact thing.

If any of these journos actually did ask about their songwriting, he’d be tempted to tell them how he wrote most of Never Enough when things were good with Zayn, so you can imagine how he’s doing right about now.

But gathering little bits and pieces of information online doesn’t really help. It’s not his Zayn out there with the green hair or gray or whatever it is now, talking about making _real_ music. Doesn’t make it any easier to stop, though.

He moves on to open the text thread that he hasn’t added to in over a month, but can’t help checking periodically. He scrolls up through it mindlessly, knowing no replies will magically appear.

“He never did reply to any of them, did he?” Harry startles him by asking. Niall hadn’t even realized that Harry had abandoned his food, watching him. He wonders what, if anything, Liam had told them about it.

Before Niall can think of a reply, their minder returns, starting a flurry of activity to get back into promo mode before the next interviewer comes over.

They get the Zayn question again, this time the phrasing about the hardest part of going from five to four.

Niall starts to ramble through their stock answer, trying to make the words his own. It hasn’t gotten any easier than the first time he’d heard the question in some form or another.

He trails off for just a second and Harry interrupts, “The paperwork.”

Niall manages to pick back up after a moment and an awkward laugh, flustered but grateful.

Good man, that Harry. The nicest, kindest bloke you’ll ever meet, might as well be Irish, polite as all get out – until you cross someone he cares about. By the end, he hadn’t even been hurt over Zayn leaving on his own behalf, but rather saw it as a betrayal of the rest of them.

And even though Niall’s world has shrunk mostly to himself, he knows that the others are still dealing with their hurt the only ways they know how: Liam, with his reasonable, stiff upper lip, and Louis, with his biting sarcasm.

So Harry’s savagery is on the behalf of all of them, but in that moment mainly for Niall. And even though he doesn’t need it – he’d take his Zayn back in a heartbeat if he could, any Zayn for that matter – he’s grateful to have someone looking out for him.

As the weeks pass and the end of tour gets closer, Niall feels completely run down. He just has to get through tour and this last surge of promo before he can take a break. A real one this time. Even knowing he has a goal, an end in sight, doesn’t stop him from feeling like he’s on a treadmill, running and running and getting nowhere.

Zayn is still the first person he thinks to tell when something’s happened. Because, of course, life has carried on, they’ve been making new memories that don’t include Zayn, creating in-jokes that he’ll never be a part of. But the memories Niall had made with Zayn were still so much stronger in his mind, and he wonders how long it will last. If he’s looking forward to the newer ones being in the forefront.  

The last show was always going to be bittersweet, but Zayn’s absence increases that feeling a hundredfold. It’s like the first show without him all over again, his missing presence taking up physical space. Even when Niall looks to the family section, all he can see is who isn’t there.

He has to laugh when they get to Act My Age, not just at the joy on the faces of their families and friends as they do the bridge over and over again for them, but at the memory of Zayn’s face the first time he’d heard the finished song. God, he’d give anything for Zayn to have wanted to sing that song with them tonight. He’d tried once or twice to explain to Zayn how he’d seen it, like a love song but for the five of them. He’d never have been able to put it into words, to capture just how he’d felt about him and his boys, the way that song did. He supposes Zayn had given up listening altogether by that point though.

Niall tries to shake off Zayn’s ghost and enjoy the moment, savor it before it goes away for a while. But all too soon they get to the hugs and goodbyes, and Niall loves these three brothers of his for who they are, for sticking around. But it’s not enough.

 **_I saw that you moved on with someone new_ **  
**_In the pub that we met he’s got his arms around you_ **  
**_It’s so hard_ **  
**_So hard_ **

Niall gets out of the car first, squinting through his glasses at the sun and camera flashes. He buttons his jacket and adjusts his sleeves as he waits for Harry to emerge. Niall hasn’t quite made up his mind about Harry’s suit; if anyone can pull it off, it’s Harry, but the print vaguely reminds him of a nan’s couch. He keeps that to himself though, not in the mood for a lecture on the creative direction of Gucci.  

“Ni, can you brush off my back?” Harry asks. “There’s probably some strands of hair and I think Elie is already off to check Lou and Liam.”

Niall starts lightly brushing Harry’s back before he even finishes asking, used to this kind of request. He spies Harry giving him a once over and asks, “Well? Do I pass the test?”

“You look good, I like the suit. Look a bit like a stockbroker with the glasses and all,” Harry replies, smirking.

As they bicker, heading toward the step and repeat, Niall’s relieved that Harry has managed to get him out of his head before the intensity of the red carpet. They’re used to the routine of it for the most part, but Niall still hates the feeling of everyone being pressed together in a small space like this.

It’s when they’re stopped at E! that it happens.

As the host gestures behind them, they all turn heads to see a tall blonde approaching. And Niall has never met her, but he knows who Gigi Hadid is and he doesn’t like this. He’s learned to be careful with Taylor’s squad, those girls could end up going either way. Sometimes they’re cool, like Selena, and sometimes they’re more like… well, more like Taylor herself.

Niall braces himself, a bit grim-faced at being right a moment later when Gigi awkwardly shakes Harry’s hand and then purposefully goes for a hug with him, then Liam, then Louis. It’s a small thing and Harry shrugs it off right away, but Niall knows exactly how this is going to go in the press, clickbait articles about a squad member snubbing Harry, like he needs that kind of thing again.

Niall’s not surprised when the articles he predicted pop up the next morning, but he is surprised by the other Gigi Hadid news that breaks overnight. He can’t stop staring at the photos of her and Zayn on their way to or from some afterparty.

Niall shakes his head, trying to clear it, but the thoughts won’t stop swirling.

_Fuck, he looks good._

Now this is a familiar-looking Zayn. God, that scruff is perfect. And Niall always loved when Zayn’s hair stuck up like that in front, after one of them ran their hands through it. _Goddamn it._ He can just picture teasing him about the unbuttoned shirt, tattoo strategically peaking out, to hear Zayn insist, “Harry didn’t invent blouses, okay, babes, loads of people wear it like this.”

_Already?_

When the breakup with Perrie was announced, he’d wanted to think that Zayn had gotten his way finally about promo, but deep down he knew better. The deal Zayn must have signed wouldn’t have allowed for much more freedom than the one he broke to make it. He wasn’t expecting something like this so soon, though. And with someone like that.

_Her? Why her?_

He’d been right about Perrie, she was a good egg. Never made it harder on them than it had to be, never let on anything about them in public or private as far as Niall knew. Zayn had been so against it at the start, but they got the privacy he’d wanted.

It looked like privacy was the last thing he wanted now.

There was nothing to do but push through the rest of their commitments for the year on autopilot. He got more hugs than usual when he was with the boys, which was saying something, but they let him be otherwise. There was nothing they could say, and they all knew it.

*

Niall thought falling off the map for a couple of months with some of his lads would help. And it did in the way that only time passing can, dulling the ache. He soaked up sunshine and saw sights up close instead of from a car window. He started the attempt to catch up on five years’ worth of sleep cut short. It was better. It was good.

But then something small would happen. He’d catch sight of a bit of graffiti. Someone would laugh just so. He’d hear a strain of familiar music –

 _I belong with you_  
_you belong with me_  
_you’re my sweetheart_

– and he’d be right back where he’d been at the beginning, like Zayn had just left and he was all alone all over again.

*

He heads to L.A. when he gets back, making plans to catch up with Louis first. The inevitable pouting from Liam and Harry over this on the email thread makes him roll his eyes, knowing he can’t reply in so many words that he doesn’t need Liam’s mothering or Harry’s watchful eyes right now. He needs someone to mock his sun-bleached hair and steal his coat and make him laugh so hard that it hurts. He needs the Tommo.

As he makes his way up the path, the door to Louis’ house is flung open by none other than the man himself. Louis waits for Niall there, one hand on the door, hip cocked, his face lit up, looking so familiar that Niall’s heart clenches.

“Oi, hurry up, I don’t have all night to be waiting on you, Nialler, get in here,” Louis calls out, grinning.

Niall grins back, relaxed in a way he hadn’t managed on even the most secluded beaches on his trip.

“You’re the one with a path a mile long to your door, mate,” he replies, clapping Louis into a hug as soon as he reaches him.

Louis holds onto him tightly for awhile, and as they break apart, he grips Niall’s shoulders. For a split second as they make eye contact, Louis’ smile falters and it’s like he’s seeing right through Niall. Just as the first flutter of panic makes itself known in Niall’s chest, Louis’ smile brightens and he steps back, gesturing for Niall to come in.

Louis leads him down a hallway, chattering about pre-drinks on the patio before whichever club he’s planning on taking Niall to later (“it’ll be sick, yeah, mate?”) and who’s going to meet them at the house and who they’ll see at the club, and Niall relaxes again. Sick night, okay. He can do that.

He’s not so lucky a couple of months later.

He’s in his hotel room in the evening, just finishing up after a much-needed long shower. It had been a full day of practice for Soccer Aid, with some press and a lot of banter thrown in. Good fun, but exhausting, and he needs to rest his knee a bit.

He hears a knock on the door just as he finishes pulling on a hoodie and heads to answer it.

Louis pushes his way in as soon as Niall opens the door, dressed similarly in sweats, hair damp from his own shower. Niall takes note of the six-pack of cheap beer that Louis’ carrying, shaking his head. Doesn’t matter how much money they make, some things never change.

Louis settles on the couch wordlessly, opening two cans of beer and thrusting one at Niall as he sits down on the chair opposite. Niall takes it as he waits for Louis to start whatever he clearly has his mind set on.

“Nialler,” Louis begins, “I love you dearly, mate, but it’s time you cut the shit.”

Niall doesn’t know what he was expecting when he saw Louis at the door, but this wasn’t it. He sputters a little, having no idea how to respond.

“Listen,” Louis says a little impatiently, “we’re worried, have been for awhile, and we’ve been letting you get away with not talking about it because you look like you’re in actual physical pain whenever he comes up, but it’s time. Talk.”

“Lou...” Niall starts, wishing he’d never opened the damn door. “No, I… I’m fine, mate. You don’t need to do this. And not now, you’ve got enough to be thinking about right now-”

“Yes, Neil,” Louis interrupts, “things have gone to shit lately, haven’t they, so distract me with whatever’s going on in your head right now or I swear to god, mate, I’ll tell Liam on you and you’ll have to deal with him and not me.”

Niall feels his face blanch as he considers that, knowing a talk with Liam will involve tears, definitely from him and a fair few from Liam as well. He weighs his options. He’s managed to put this off for so long, surely he can keep it up?

“Ni,” Louis says quietly, “it’s just you, me, and couple of beers. Come on.”

And when he looks up into Louis’ eyes and sees the understanding there, he breaks.

“I’ve been going over and over it, Lou, and I can’t figure when it happened. When did he become this person? He’s off somewhere saying he’s making ‘real’ music, and just… you’ve heard it, right? Because I’ve listened to that whole album forwards and backwards trying to make sense of it, but I don’t hear _him_ in it at all. And who messes with the letters like that, anyway, all upper and lower with no rhyme or reason? And that video? The Pillowtalk one? It’s… it’s embarrassing is what it is. I can’t look at it, with the flowers opening and closing over the girls,’ you know, parts, and the, like, black tears?”

Niall laughs a little, shaking his head, before continuing.

“I mean, can you imagine? And that girl. Of course she’s in it while he’s singing about ‘fucking’ and ‘fighting’ and ‘paradise’ and ‘warzone’… that’s all them, that has nothing to do with me or me and him. I have no idea what he’s on about. It was never… it was never like that with us, I know it wasn’t. He’s like a different person with her, you’ve noticed it, right? He never... _enjoyed_ promo with Perrie the way he seems to with her. That one photoshoot, like they’re in some old movie, and he’s really smiling the whole time, I’ve seen the photos. And that event, the thing he showed up to with those designer metal arms, and he didn’t even look uncomfortable or like he didn’t want to be there with the cameras all on them.     

“Oh, oh, and that interview. You know the one, right? I just can’t… the idea that we haven’t been in touch because of our pride. _Our pride_ , Lou, can you imagine? If that’s not the kettle calling the pot black, wait, the kettle crying black tears, eh? It’s laughable, I can’t believe he’s saying this stuff with a straight face, he’s not even that good at PR, so he must at least part way believe it, right?

“This isn’t him, mate, this isn’t the Zayn I know, my Zayn. I’ve loved every version of him since I’ve known him, from when they kept putting us in cardigans, to that yellow streak in his hair, to the beard he fought with them over, I mean his actual beard, not, you know… well both, actually, to every single last tattoo. I always thought I was the one seeing the real him, the best of him. And I don’t even recognize him anymore, he’s a stranger to me. And I don’t know when it started, if I could only figure that out…”

Niall trails off, realizing he hasn’t even stopped for a breath. It’s suddenly so quiet in the room that you could hear a pin drop. He looks at Louis, who’s leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes trained on Niall’s face.

Louis seems to realize Niall’s done and sits back, still silent, processing. Then he reaches forward, pushing something toward Niall.

Niall looks down to the coffee table and sees the journal that Harry had given him months ago. That journal has gone everywhere with him since, even though he hasn’t written a word in it. It’s a little beat up from being stuffed at the bottom of backpacks and duffel bags, frayed at the corners in a way that would usually do his head in but feels appropriate nowadays. As Niall looks back up to meet Louis’ gaze, he understands.

He’s managed to put it off for a long while now, but it’s time.

 **_And I want to tell you everything_ **  
**_The words I never got to say the first time around_ **

Once Niall starts writing, he can’t stop. The back of his journal quickly fills with concepts and snippets of lyrics that he finds himself jotting down at all hours of the day – and night.  

He gives the go-ahead to set things in motion that he’d put on hold long ago, meetings to be scheduled and contracts drawn up, itching to make something of the thoughts he’s now letting flow freely.

As he looks through his ideas before his first scheduled writing session, one stands out.

From there, things come together quickly. He supposes it makes sense, what with him finally pouring all of himself into it after months of holding back, collaborating with friends he trusts to craft something tangible out of raw emotion. He’s recording in the studio before he knows it and, as he steps in the booth, it feels like coming home. He knows who he is here, and he has a purpose again. This is what he’s meant to be doing.

Once Niall gets the file with the master recording he’s happy with, he forwards it on to the boys first, needing to hear the opinions of those he trusts most before everyone else he can expect to starts weighing in.

**nhoran@capitol.com**

_Wey-hey, boys! New tune is ready for ya. Let me know what you think. Cheers._

He puts golf on in the background and tries to ignore the tab on his laptop with his email open, but it’s a lost cause. He remembers this rush, the exhilaration of creating something and putting it out there, but the intensity is different somehow this time. It all comes down to him and what he has to say and how he says it. The nerves have gotten him; what if he got it wrong? What if he can’t get it right?

Liam’s reply comes through first, because of course it does, while Niall is in the bathroom, _because of course it does_. Niall almost trips in his rush back to couch when he spots the new bold line in his email but he manages to get there and open the reply in one piece.

**LiamJamesPayne@bigpayno.com**

_Mate, I am absolutely gobsmacked. The tune is absolutely beautiful. Off the top of my head, it’s so deceptively simple – it’s basically just guitar and piano and minimal strings, and they only revolve around a couple of chords – yet it’s so lush at the same time. And it brought a bit of a tear to my eye, if I’m being honest. It made feel quite nostalgic for my own town, for my own experiences._

_Well done, Ni, mate, I am so proud. You’ve set the bar quite high for the rest of us!_

Niall’s a bit gobsmacked himself at Liam’s feedback; it’s a little overwhelming truth be told. Unable to really take it in, he’s thinking for the thousandth time how jarring it is to see Liam’s perfect spelling and grammar in private (he can never make head or tails of his tweets or Instagram captions thanks to the lazy social media persona crafted for Liam years ago) when Louis’ reply comes through.

**tommo28@mac.com**

_This is siiiiiiiiiick, mate !! Structurally, this is just perfect with the cyclical "everything comes back to you," the notes going down before going up and back to where you started, give or take. It’s really catchy, it’s already stuck in my head, but the nuance of the storytelling, mate. It feels like it’s just as much about the things you don't say as it is about the things you do. You don’t really go into details in the lyrics, but this deep connection still comes through._

_Defo a quality tune, well done !_

The reply from Harry pings before he’s even done reading Louis’ reply, and Niall’s a bit chuffed that the boys knew he’d be waiting on them and are coming through for him.

**Harry-Bo@fullstop.com**

_I’m really into the folk influence, how it’s almost old fashioned. You’ve crafted this classic, an authentic and sincere ballad, but in a really modern way. It feels stripped down, an uncomplicated song about a complicated situation. It’s so damn wistful._

_I know you say you write from ‘choncepts,’ Ni, but I can say that it’s pretty clear that it’s about him, right? I mean, we can put the pieces together. I assume you still haven’t heard from him, and you’re getting ready to put it out there, and it’s going to do really well, I know it, and I’m just wondering if you think you will?_

Niall sits back, the urgency to reply fading away. He wishes he could say yes, but he just isn’t sure.

Once the higher-ups hear the song and are as pleased with it as Niall, things really start to kick off. Niall has very specific ideas about how he wants to go about promo and connecting with fans, and he gets his way for the most part. No one else has the passwords to his social media or anything like that. The black-and-white one-take video for the song is exactly what he wanted. He gets real input this time into the offers they get for performances.

The one thing he doesn’t get his way on is piggybacking the song release onto Harry’s _Another Man_ issue. He’d been really impressed at the bits Harry had sent him over the summer, happy that it seemed to capture Harry in a way that hadn’t been done before, so he felt a bit bad over the whole thing.

Ever the gentleman, Harry brushed it off, knowing how these things work, and then the email thread devolved into outcry over the magazine photoshopping out Harry’s extra nipples until Liam pointed out that they can be seen in the haircut photo. And Niall can tell no replies are coming through to take the piss because they’re all checking their copies.

The writing and recording had been a fair bit similar to how they’d done things in the band, so it doesn’t hit Niall until his first live performance that it really is just him now.

He feels okay getting ready, a familiar sense of being the eye of the storm in the usual backstage chaos. He smiles as Grimmy whirls by, his “hiya” accompanied by a quick handshake. Then he gathers his guitar, smoothes out the dodgy blazer he’d let someone talk him into, and waits in the wings for his cue.

It’s as he walks on stage, looking around, taking in the size of the crowd, that his knees just barely start to shake. He pushes through it, striding up to the microphone. And there’s no one to wait for. It’s just him and his guitar like he’d pictured. All right, then.

He’s in his head the whole time, can’t help it. He can tell he’s rushing a bit, the nerves making him feel like he’s flying. His inner monologue switches back and forth between “don’t just stand there, what are you doing” to “don’t sway so much, ya lunatic” during those four endless minutes.

But the four minutes do come to an end, and he did it. He actually did it – all by himself.

And as he steps back and hears the applause, it’s downright exhilarating. He’s on a high the rest of the night, his thoughts racing almost as fast as his heart had on stage. He still can’t quite believe he did it completely on his own. Niall can’t remember the last time he’d done something like that with no one to back him up or wait in the wings. He hadn’t realized until now how much he always relied on that.

It’s late at night as he walks around the house, locking doors and turning off lights, trying to calm the buzzing feeling that’s still accompanying him, still thinking about the ways the performance had felt different when it hits him how it had felt the same.

Performing the song hadn’t had the immediate power of all the emotions he’d put into writing it; it was starting to belong to the listener just as much as the creator. He hadn’t expected This Town to be like any other song that way; he’d thought it would always be for Zayn from him.

His confidence bolstered, Niall gets more into the swing of this solo thing as the whirlwind of promo keeps going, and he lets himself enjoy it and let loose and have fun. The response is humbling, more than he let himself hope for from the fans (old and new, how about that?) and critics. Niall honestly hasn’t felt this fulfilled in a long time, happy and proud of himself.

And yet he still can’t help but wonder.

Has Zayn heard the song? He must have heard it, right? What did he think of it? What did he think of this Niall, on his own, a bit more grown up than the last they’d seen each other? When will he get in touch? Will he ever get in touch? What _happened_ to him? Did he just get lost along the way? How did Niall lose him so completely that he can’t find him?

Every time Niall talks about how grateful he is for the response to the song, he means every word of it. But it’s bittersweet waiting to hear what the person who matters most thinks of it.

If he thinks of it at all.  

 **_You still make me nervous when you walk in the room_ **  
**_Them butterflies they come alive when I’m next to you_ **

After he’d heard the news, Niall expected to be nervous before the AMAs. But in the days running up to it, everything felt business as usual between rehearsals and meetings. He woke up the morning of the show and, instead of panic starting to settle in, he just felt calm.

And it lasted all day. He had a few people buzzing around the house, helping him get ready, making sure he had everything he needed, but he wasn’t worried. As Niall checked his hair in the mirror one last time, Elie fussed over his pocket square, getting it to sit just so.

She looked up with a smile, remarking, “I like this stage of easing away from the blond, it works on you, but I can’t wait to see the full brunet.”

And Niall nods along, letting her continue thinking the hair is all part of a larger image transition. That’s her department after all, so he only feels a bit bad that it’s not the whole truth. But as ridiculous as it would sound to say out loud, he’s not quite ready to completely let go of the blond because it feels like letting go of who he’d been with Zayn.

He sends off a quick photo as they get in the car and sees the reply from Harry (“saucy stockbroker, this year, eh, Ni?”) just as they arrive. He shakes his head, amazed at how the more things have changed in a year, the more they’ve stayed the same. He heads down the red carpet confidently, barely noticing the crush of people.

He doesn’t even flinch at the questions about Zayn, easily nattering on about how he hasn’t seen him in awhile and he’s looking forward to catching up. And while it’s not exactly true, he does feel ready. This has been building for so long that he’s ready to lay everything down and see one way or another what Zayn is going to do.

It’s not until he’s inside the venue and sees Zayn from a distance for the first time in person since trying to fall asleep curled around him their last night together that the nerves hit and his bravado starts to feel false.

Niall sits, trying to rid the sudden urge to throw up. What was he thinking? He can’t do this. He’s been so stupid treating this like any other performance. There’s just no way.

As the show starts, Niall struggles to steady his breathing and keep up appearances. It’s a good thing he has plenty of practice by now. Finally someone comes to grab him as it’s time to get ready.

It’s all a blur as he’s escorted to the dressing room, just enough time to get changed and pose for a photo, hoping the young Harrison Ford look is working, before he’s waiting with his guitar to go on.  

And he stands there, knees shaking, he can’t believe how nervous he is. More than auditions, more than live shows, more than Madison Square Garden or Wembley. Incredibly, he’s never had so much riding on a performance before. As he walks on stage and waits for the cue, he’s sure he can’t do it. And then it’s time.

He absolutely smashes it.

He completely lets go and, more than any other time with This Town, puts all of himself into it, performing from head to toe. Everything he’s been feeling since that first morning without Zayn, everything he’d held back, every feeling he’d wanted to convey with the song comes pouring out.  

He finishes and nods gratefully at the applause, knowing he’s done everything he could.

Or maybe not quite yet.

Once he spots the opportunity, he takes it before he can second guess himself. As Niall alters his route back to his seat to pass where Zayn is seated, his heart thuds almost painfully but he barely registers it. He concentrates on the blue of Zayn’s blazer, his legs moving on autopilot to get him there. He’s reaching for Zayn’s hand before Zayn realizes what’s happening, he can tell. Zayn’s skin is cool to the touch like always, and Niall’s eyes blur with tears for a second at how familiar it feels. He blinks the tears back before his eyes flicker up to meet Zayn’s for a brief moment as he nods before moving on. It’s over before Niall feels like it’s even begun.

He doesn’t know what’s going to come of it, but he had to try.

 **_And I know that it’s wrong_ **  
**_That I can’t move on_ **

Niall doesn’t get any satisfaction out of Zayn looking surprised and kind of sick during their quick interaction, not in the way Harry or Louis would. And he can just picture the exact sad puppy dog face that Liam would’ve made. But then, that’s not the reaction any of them would have gotten. It’s always been Niall that Zayn couldn’t face.

Niall settles back in his seat, exchanging nods and smiles with the people around him. It’s as he’s fidgeting, struggling to pay attention to the act on stage, that he makes a decision. He’s been waiting for months to hear from Zayn, but he’s not going to wait for him tonight. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and turns it off, determined to enjoy himself. Setting everything with Zayn aside, this is still a big night for him. He’s going to let himself have it.

He chats to acquaintances, has a few longer conversations with friends he hasn’t seen in awhile, hangs out backstage with Shawn for a bit. He accepts congratulations from just about everyone he talks to, dead chuffed. He accepts drinks from a fair few of them too, and ends up having the good time he set out to, not letting himself dwell.

Once the show has wrapped and he’s said as many goodbyes as he can manage, Niall heads to meet his driver. He gets in the back of the car and melts into the seat, realizing how tired he is. Tired, but happy. Incredible night, really.

He’s gotten so used to not being okay that he forgot what okay – not just okay, but good, really fucking good – feels like. He feels so light, unburdened; it’s intoxicating in a way the drinks he cheers’d with earlier couldn’t match.

Finding the sudden quiet a bit jarring, he decides to sync up a playlist. And if that means turning his phone back on, so be it.

The notifications start pinging like mad once he turns his phone on and he can’t help grinning, his hopes soaring as high as his mood.

He dismisses the professional courtesies first, those are easiest to sort. He has about a million emails from the boys, have they been keeping the thread going all night? He’s sure all the snaps are from Liam, he tends to get carried away like that. Twitter, no; Zayn wouldn’t tweet him after that or, if he did, it would be some kind of promo and Niall’s not up for that. He has texts from just about every friend he’s ever made, and as he swipes past all of them, Niall’s a little angry that he’s not taking the time to read through the congrats and kind words; what’s wrong with him?

It only takes him a few minutes to sift through everything and, while part of him wants to double- check, none of them are from Zayn. Heart now heavy, he checks the Google alert that he hasn’t managed to cancel yet. As he reads about the crack Zayn made in his speech, he has enough presence of mind to be glad he wasn’t in the room for that. Then he sees the photos of the kiss with that girl backstage.

Niall sets the phone on the seat next to him, scrubs a hand over his face and stares blindly out the car window.

The familiar guitar plucks and _ho! hey!_ come on just as Niall starts to realize he’s been holding onto something that isn’t there. And it hurts, jesus does it hurt, but maybe it will be easier to let go now that he knows.

Niall had spent so much time going over it, trying to figure out exactly how they got to this point. He knows now it doesn’t matter anymore. They are here, and it’s where Zayn wants them to be. If tonight didn’t make a difference, nothing would.

As he watches the lights of the city rushing by, he thinks that, on some level, he’s probably always going to love Zayn. But that love is for a person that doesn’t really exist anymore. If he ever really did.

If he and Zayn had what he’d thought they did, if they were the real thing, then Zayn wouldn’t have been able to walk away like that. Like it was nothing. And maybe he hadn’t known Zayn the way he always thought he did; he sure doesn’t recognize him now.

He catches sight of his reflection, thinking back to the conversation with Elie. It doesn’t matter if he has blond or brunet or no hair, Zayn wouldn’t recognize who he is now either.

Niall knows he’s a different person now. Losing his boy, losing Zayn, losing _them_ had changed him.

It had forced him to grow up. Everyone had thought this career – the hectic schedule, being thrust into the spotlight – meant that he and the boys had been forced to to grow up fast. But when Niall thinks back now, they were just two kids falling in love. He and Zayn’d had no idea what they were doing but all the faith in the world they could do it together. That nothing would come between them.

And maybe that’s enough for some people. It hadn’t been for them.

Niall knows he has edges now, he’s tough in a way he might not have been before. He gives fewer fucks about standing his ground on his own now. Just ask his new team. No one else is going to do it for him, and that’s okay. He can stand on his own two feet without anyone behind him, whether it’s on stage or not.

Because loss gave him clarity, too. It taught him what he wants. And what he wants out of life, whether in business or with friends or in a relationship, is something real. Something true. Unwavering.

He wants to create music that’s honest and searing, that makes people feel something. He wants friends that will stand by him no matter what, even when he can’t be as much of a friend back. He wants someone steadfast, who brings out the best in him.

Thinking back over the night, he knows he’s lucky. He already has the first two. He’s not quite ready for the third, but he will be. And he knows he’ll be able to spot the real thing this time and go after it.

He reaches forward and skips to the next song, sitting back again to watch the lights flash by.

That’s it, then.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this fic has helped me through a loss in my own life, so I really want to thank each and every one of you for reading. Please let me know if you liked it with a kudos or comment <3    
>    
>  Rebloggable [tumblr post](https://disgruntledkittenface.tumblr.com/post/163410366157/disgruntledkittenface-this-town-by?is_related_post=1) – here!


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